


Searching

by CertainIdeas



Category: Original Work
Genre: Androids, F/M, Futa Loli, Futanari, Lolicon, Masturbation, Near Future, Robot Sex, Robots, Sex Robots, Vaginal Fingering, you get the picture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:55:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24771220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CertainIdeas/pseuds/CertainIdeas
Summary: Cliff's not having such a great time of it. Then a package arrives on his doorstep, and life gets a little more complicated, though that doesn't necessarily mean worse.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	Searching

**Author's Note:**

> A fun time. The first chapter will be pretty unhappy, but that's just so the later ones can lighten the tone.

I licked my lips in anticipation and no small amount of anxiety, eyeing the package that’d shown up at my door. It was cheeky in design, a polychrome lidded container almost formed from cheap plastic, held together by industrial strength adhesive and hope. It was almost as tall as me, and about half again as wide. There wasn’t a biometric pass of any kind, or even a keypad for verification. It was about as low-tech as you could get, but it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Frank wasn’t the type to throw money around on something that came as packaging for a ‘gift.’

I snorted at the thought. This is about as much a gift as a tax form. I was happy to have received it, don’t get me wrong, but it was far from anything approaching charity. Frank had simply needed a guinea pig, and I was the best test subject he had. Nervous, undemanding, reclusive. Best of all, he knew that I wouldn’t complain. He’d bowled me over with the offer before I’d worked up the nerve to even think of declining, and after that I’d somehow found myself standing outside his office with a notification on my pad, frustration on my mind and more questions than answers.

Still, it was the first gift I’d received in a long while, even if it was more work. The document that arrived on my pad freed me of any notion that it would be anything but. I’d looked through it earlier, only a few layers deep, and I’d only become more confused as I kept going.

Reflex tests, coordination assessments, even speech therapy instructions, ‘should anything arise.’ I didn’t know whether to feel amused, confused or offended. I settled for a strange mixture of the three. I didn’t need any of this stuff, and, based on the instructions that accompanied each form, I got the feeling Frank knew that. I needed therapy, certainly, but not any of this shit. So, what was I supposed to do with them?

It couldn’t have been for my prospective kids. I didn’t have any kids. It’d been months since I’d even seen a kid. I didn’t need to go out there; why should I? Everything I needed was in here, deliveries were available for every commodity under the sun, and my four walls didn’t throw me into a panic attack just by existing. Sure, it was lonely, but I didn’t need much. People were less essential than scary.

I popped up the catch on one side of the box, then did the same for the other. I struggled to lift the lid off, trying not to whack my few trinkets off the surrounding kitchen counters. I managed to find an unoccupied section of floor where it could rest, in the microscopic living room. I almost walked straight through it into the hallway, having to backtrack a few feet to make sure I didn’t put it down inside a trash chute or something equally stupid.

I set it down with a sigh, then went back. Now that it was open, I could see inside the box.

There wasn’t much there. Or, there was, but it wasn’t indicative of anything with form.

The interior was dominated by memory foam padding, covered from end to end in the stuff. I got my fingers under the section on the top with some effort, pulled it away to see yet more underneath, this more suggestive of a shape than a featureless plain. Only slightly, though, and nowhere near descriptive enough of what might’ve been underneath for me to take a guess just yet. I tried again, and just received more foam for my troubles.

I sighed. Well, it’s not like I had anything else I needed to be doing today.

I worked on scooping the foam out for several minutes, peeling it away to expose more underneath, gradually working my way to the innermost figure in this ill-defined Babushka doll. I lost myself to the activity for a bit, my mind drifting off to other matters with every layer that disappeared. I started reciting my grocery list in my head, preparing well in advance so I didn’t need to compile it when I was sitting down to place my order. If the website was down again, I’d have to use the phone. The surer I was of my actions now, the less likely I was to prove myself a moron when talking to the person on the other end.

Yeah, right. You know you’re too much of a fucking idiot to get it right, even with preparation. Once that employee gets off the phone, the first thing they’ll be thinking is: ‘What a retard.’ Don’t fool yourself. Just pray the site’s up, or you’re fucked. Maybe you can just go a week without eating again.

My fingers brushed up against something that definitely wasn’t foam, and I was drawn out of my reverie. I looked down to see what was obstructing my progress.

I frowned.

The section of foam I’d torn away had exposed something off-white, not quite milky, but pretty close. It was smooth, unusually so, yet clung to my fingers a bit as they tracked over it, being drawn along with my hand for a short distance before settling back into place.

I got my fingers under the foam surrounding it and heaved. It was considerably more difficult than taking it off one strip at a time, but I didn’t want to stay here all day, and I was getting curious.

It parted slowly under my fingers, allowing me to peel a large chunk off and set it aside, before reaching back in to do it again. I had to do that a total of seven times, massive stacks of compressed foam coming apart to sit on the kitchen counters and floor. My small unit was beginning to resemble an unkept warehouse more than a home.

I huffed. I’ll need to clean all this up. Hopefully I don’t run into anyone in the hall. My stomach clenched at the thought.

I reached in one last time, removing the final piece of foam. The small mound resolved into a shape I could recognize as the object inside came fully into view.

I blinked, looked away then looked back to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. What the hell?

There was a… it was sort of… it wouldn’t have been entirely accurate to call it…

My shoulders slumped. There’s really no way of saying it that didn’t make me look at least a little suspect, so I suppose I’ll just be blunt.

There was a small, naked boy — the facial features and long black hair were markedly feminine, but the penis suggested otherwise — in the box, lying on his back. I thought he might’ve been sleeping at first, somehow having stayed comatose throughout my fussing, until I noticed how still his chest was.

Oh God. There’s no way Frank mailed me a kid’s corpse, right? He’s not that insane. I considered my claim for a moment. Oh, God, Frank mailed me a kid’s corpse. He’s that insane.

That thought stuck as I paced around the kitchen, wondering what I was meant to do now. I very much didn’t want to be a suspect in a murder, but there weren’t many courses of action that didn’t get me labelled as an accessory, at the very least. Nobody knew me well enough to stand up for me, at least not in the apartment, and Frank wouldn’t help if he’d been uncaring enough to mail me a fresh body. Which raised so many questions, some of which made the whole thing make even less sense than it already did.

How’d he get it through the postal service? I’m pretty sure I saw on a documentary that they scan everything that comes through. They would’ve noticed if some kid’s full skeleton came up on an X-ray, right?

I stopped pacing and frowned, turning back to my pad, sitting next to the box. I walked over and picked it up, flipping through Frank’s documents as an idea formed. I wasn’t sure what it was, just that it was something markedly more optimistic than receiving evidence of my sometime companion’s murderous tendencies.

The first few pages pertained to education, cognitive and physical assessment, along with an oddly-structured curriculum that I could only surmise had been worked out by Frank himself. Oddly, some of the passages stressed that the work was by no means ancillary, merely acting as a stopgap measure ‘should complications arise.’

The hell is that supposed to mean?

The pages after that went through different ameteur therapy techniques, but I already knew from a preliminary readthrough that it had the same stipulation attached to it as before: just in case. In case of what, I still didn’t know, but it was reassuring to know that Frank was thinking ahead. Or terrifying. Either one applied, occasionally both at the same time. Frank was a nut.

I paged through it until I got to a section that started spouting technical jargon. And not the technical jargon I’d been expecting, either. Instead of being gruesome descriptions of organ harvesting and cadaver preservation, it was a catalogue of mechanical components and nanoelectronics. All of it was alien to me, given I hadn’t ever looked into any engineering or scientific practices beyond a surface level layman’s description, but I knew enough. None of it was anything that applied to human beings, unaugmented ones at least.

The last page fell into view as I swiped away from a combined index and glossary of terms, the entire arrangement totally failing to make even one aspect of what I’d just read clearer. The letter did, though.

The document was capped off with a letter from Frank, curt as he was in everyday life. I had to grudgingly smile at the dearth of information there, despite my frustration. It was just so typical of him.

Hey Cliff

This is a new project. I’m testing out an AI. I’ve put in some bits you’ll like. Try not to destroy the robot, please. It’s expensive.

Use the stuff I sent you if anything goes wrong. Call me if you can’t fix it.

Bye  
Frank

Well, I wasn’t confused anymore. At least, not about the boy. That’d been explained, in about as flippant a manner as was possible. It was everything else that perplexed me.

Why the hell did he give me a robot? I know I’ve let him foist a few of his projects on me before, but a robot? What made him think that was a good idea? I don’t know the first thing about taking care of a child, and they’re self-repairing, at least to an extent. I can’t service a child bot. This thing will collapse in a week.

On top of my concerns, I realized that I didn’t even know what the bot was meant to do. Or why it had a penis and balls.

Seriously, why design this thing with genitalia? It’s not like it can use them. An image of it peeing oil came to me, and I amended my thoughts. Hopefully it can’t use them. Things’ll get a lot messier if it can. I wonder if it’s housebroken.

There was an easy solution to this, I knew. I could’ve just called Frank, told him to take his toy back, and gotten on with my life. It would’ve been so easy if I were anyone else.

Unfortunately, I was me. Just glancing at the phone increased the tempo of my heartbeat. Actually phoning someone made me want to throw up on a good day. Calling him to tell him I didn’t want to take care of this thing?

I’d honestly rather coat the walls of my bedroom with my own brain matter. A messy death was preferable to hearing the disappointment on the other end.

I’d know what he wasn’t saying from his tone: I thought you could do just this one thing, but I guess I was wrong. Too inconvenient for you, even though I’m not asking much. It’s because you’re too much of a self-absorbed shitheel to care about other people. The world would be better off without you in it.

He was too polite, but I knew he’d be thinking it. I didn’t want to confront that. I didn’t want to know that I’d let someone down, that one of the only people who bothered to talk to me, who I hadn’t let down yet, who I didn’t find totally terrifying thanks to some familiarity borne of shared project time, didn’t want anything to do with me.

I picked my pad up and placed it in the living room. I came back to the kitchen, shuffled some of the foam out of the way, and carefully lifted the box off the island to sit on the floor.

Once that was done, as delicately as I could manage, I removed the small body — robot, it’s a robot, Frank didn’t kill anyone — and placed it on the island. Its head dipped to the side slightly in a manner most reminiscent of a fresh cadaver, and Frank didn’t murder anyone. This wasn’t a corpse.

It’s going to take some reassurance for me to believe that fully, I think.

I inspected it from head to toe, trying to find some discrepancy that would set it apart from a dead child in my mind. Unfortunately for my frayed sanity, this robot was exquisitely made. Its skin was pale, but otherwise indistinguishable from that of a person. Even feeling it, I couldn’t pick apart anything that suggested anything other than this being completely ordinary skin. Except for the fact that it was unnaturally unwrinkled and smooth, but that might just have been from post-mortem chemical treatments.

Maybe. I wasn’t a chemical biologist.

Its hair was the same. Visual inspection didn’t alert me to anything being out of place, apart from it looking too good. When I ran my fingers through it, it came apart in luscious waves of raven thread, fine as silk. It was beautiful to look at.

The eyes, when I opened the lids, were the most striking feature. They were a deep bottle green, vivid, practically fluorescent. The irises were clean, uniform, perfect. Artificial.

The eyes definitely aren’t natural. Might just be prosthetics, but I’m hopeful.

I tracked down the body, inspecting each component in turn. The face was flawless, beautiful in its youthfulness. The chest was small. It depressed as I expected when I pushed down, the ribs pressing against my fingers. There was a belly button in the correct place, but it didn’t have any of the irregularities that would’ve come with a real one, not at all wrinkled or irregular. It was a perfectly circular indentation in the abdomen, as if someone had drawn its shape out with a compass.

Strangely, that’s what erased all doubt for me. People didn’t have navels that perfect.

I reached the waist, and that’s where I ran into a speed bump. I could’ve continued down to the legs, checked the lines of the feet to see how deep they were, or if they were there at all. It probably would’ve been a good indicator for how artificial this all was, since I knew there was a good amount of wear on human soles.

That was what my logical side wanted to do. Everything else was currently operating on a far more primitive set of commands.

The main problem was the closeness of my face to its false flesh. Were I a few centimeters out, I probably wouldn’t have been tempted as strongly. There’d be physical distance, enough to make up the difference when my reptilian brain inevitably failed to disengage from its urge to fornicate. But I was too close.

And that penis looked impossibly inviting, as much as the thought pained me. I was absolutely pathetic.

Then again, I was a virgin at twenty-four. I’d never even seen another person naked in an intimate setting — keyword being intimate. Locker room nudity and bathtime with family members didn’t count. My knowledge of sex extended to the theoretical, and that’s where it stayed. My sole romantic partner ever since I was twelve had been my hand, and it didn’t have any really titillating features or interesting points to raise in a conversation. It just knew how to jerk me off. It’d always been good enough.

Until now.

Small it may have been, and probably artificial, but the penis before me was more enticing than a five course meal. I reached out with a hand, then hesitated, drew back.

I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes, shook my head.

Can’t get it from a person, so you’re going to molest a robot. You’re fucking pathetic, you know that? Can’t even rape someone right.

I didn’t put much stock in the voice’s words. It was its existence that annoyed me. It’d always been there, mocking me. It loved to let me know just how little I was worth, how nobody would ever love me, how I’d die alone. It was what stopped me from phoning my parents despite them being well. It was what stopped me from going out to a pub and just chatting someone up for the sake of it. It was what stopped me from making anything of myself, afraid that I wasn’t worth enough for other people to care about me, even as I desperately craved the affections of just one person. Three simple words, that’s all I wanted. I’d never get them, because of the way I’d been since the day I was born.

The worst part, the part that angered me most of all, was knowing that it wasn’t really a voice. Nobody was up there, in my head. Nobody was talking to me. I was so starved for attention that I invented someone whose sole purpose was to hate me, just so it felt like someone cared enough to talk to me. It was better than being alone.

That anger was enough to quiet the worst of the nerves, replace my worry with a weak determination. I’d show that voice that I was worth something. I’d show it that I was capable of doing more than sitting in a microscopic living room all day, wishing somebody would notice me. I’d show it that I could approach somebody else with an air of eroticism, even if the person was an inactive robot.

I grasped the penis in the middle of its shaft. I drew my hand down, then up, moving from the base to its tip, a single short pump to feel how it moved beneath my fingers. The answer, surprisingly, was rather naturally. It was almost like touching my own flaccid penis, just smaller.

I moved lower, drawing my hands down to poke at the scrotum underneath. I did so tenderly, afraid to damage anything — if it was anything like a real scrotum, caution would be appreciated.

It deformed under my touch like the genuine article, skin moving over round, unseen organs below. I felt for them gently, surprised to note that they felt very familiar. Their shape was almost exactly— no, exactly like a real pair of testicles, at least from what i could feel. That was odd.

I’d understand if this thing was packing some kind of auxiliary computer in here or something, but this feels like an actual pair of testes. Why would he put an analogue for those in here?

Unless the obvious answer I was coming to was right. It seemed a little sideways, Frank using his know-how just to make something to screw, but I’d long since given up the delusion that I knew what went through his head. He was no less a mystery now than the day I’d met him. For all I know, he had a genius reason for shipping a sex-bot to me, one that wouldn’t become apparent until I was well into my eighties.

I reached further under the scrotum, my fingers searching for the perineum, hoping to follow its trail up towards where I assumed this thing had its anus, or at least a decent enough substitute.

I didn’t manage it. The skin immediately after the scrotum parted as I tried to run my hand over it, my index finger sinking into folds that shouldn’t have been there.

I frowned, moving so my gaze was looking up from near its feet, instead of over its stomach.

There was a pair of lips there, where I’d just been investigating. A vulva, placed directly beneath the male genitalia. I blew out a thin stream of air, considering, then moved my index finger in slightly deeper. It sank in to the first knuckle. I placed my middle finger in that divide, next to the one already there, and separated them.

The labial lips spread apart, allowing me to see what looked like a perfectly ordinary entrance to a vagina, alongside a tiny hole immediately above that I assumed was the urethra. I wondered why a sex-bot would have one of those. Watersports, maybe? Not a kink of mine, but to each their own.

I removed my fingers, watching as the labia flicked back to their former positions. The dual holes were covered up again, no clues to their existence beyond the slit that ran from the scrotum down to the beginning of the bum, where the cheeks began to form.

I noticed tightness around my penis then, for the first time today. It was uncomfortable, begging to be released. When I looked down, my pants were tenting considerably.

I lowered the waistband and fished my penis out, letting it hang loose for a moment, watching it as it flopped around near the kitchen island. Occasionally the glans would brush against the smooth surface, leaving behind a thin trail of precum that glistened under the overhead light.

The tip was wetter than it’d ever been, and I hadn’t even stimulated it. A steady stream of lubrication welled up over the seconds, collecting into a bead that would lose its hold, running down to coat the shaft of my penis, or dripping in a long line that hung suspended for a moment, wobbling in time with my rapid heartbeat, before the string broke and let off a dollop of the stuff to fall onto the floor. I’d always been an avid producer of precum, probably unusually so, but this was a record even for me.

I inhaled deeply, quicker than normal, enough for me to take note. I hadn’t realized how hard I’d been breathing, or how fast my heart had been beating. I was acutely aware of that fact now, along with the heat around me. The air felt unusually warm against my skin, despite the thermostat always being set to leave my unit a little chilly.

Was this what just seeing an unmoving imitation of a vagina did to me? I suppose it made sense. I’d never done anything like this before. Just touching it was electric.

I reached forward again, placing my middle finger above where I’d seen the entrance to the bot’s vagina before. I applied a little pressure, watching as it sunk in millimeter by millimeter, penetration in slow motion. It reached the opening, and I eased it in. The surface was naturally slippery, making my task far easier. I didn’t know if that was due to the material used, or a lubricant.

I grasped my penis with my other hand, slowly stroking it as I eased my finger in to its base. I kept it in there once I was unable to go any further, just wiggling it around, in wonder at the new sensation. I didn’t particularly care that this thing might not have been anatomically correct. It looked real enough for me.

I stretched my foreskin out to its limit, then inserted a finger, swirling it over the glans in a solitary imitation of the act of docking. My other fingers quested over the skin on the outside, pushing at my sensitive areas to provide some extra stimulation. I removed my soaked finger and went back to stroking before too long, more invested in reaching orgasm now that I was primed.

I started removing my finger from the vagina, pulling it out until only the tip still protruded between those luscious lips, then slowly pushed it back in to the hilt. I repeated the action, a little faster this time, in time with the stroking of my cock. The walls hugged my finger as it accelerated, providing token resistance that felt a little like a tiny mouth sucking on my digit.

My whole world was taken up by that sight, the little slit devouring my finger as I pumped it in and out. The small scrotum was jostled as the body shifted fractionally with every thrust, the penis above it wiggling to and fro with the movement. I wanted to take hold of it, squeeze and stroke while the body beneath moaned in delight. I wanted my hands to become wet with its arousal, licking it off my fingers between strokes as I gave the… girl, I decided, time to cool off.

I wanted so desperately to hold off on stroking, to halt my ministrations and remove my hands, leaving her desperate for continuation. She would look at me then, confusion and frenzied arousal warring for space in her expression, her eyes glazed, her mouth half-open, letting off a tiny whine.

I would give her a smile then, try my hardest to make it look sultry and promising, then lower my face to her crotch, my grin turning teasing as I noticed her arousal turn halfway to surprise. Only for an instant, though, just enough time for me to place my mouth over her tiny penis, taking the whole thing into my mouth, base to tip, my bottom lip massaging her balls.

I’d take a finger and insert it into her vagina, much as I was doing now, perhaps one more if she was able to take it. She would moan wantonly, and I would be encouraged, her pleasure galvanizing me to put in more effort, suck her little shaft harder, finger her ever faster to a growing climax.

When she finally did come, bucking and vocalizing uncontrollably, cum splashing the inside of my mouth as her vagina clenched around my finger, I would continue for a few seconds more, let her ride it out to completion before I stopped. I would clean her shaft off with my mouth, swallowing her seed as I licked it off her small penis, circling the glans with my tongue just before I popped off, taking pleasure in her twitching as I stimulated her sensitive head one last time.

She would breathe deeply, thought returning in fragments as she comes down from her high. Her head would come up to look at me, dazed and blissful, and I would return her gaze. She would smile, then, a small, sweet thing, and I would smile back, knowing I’d done something right for once in my life.

We’d go off and hold each other on my couch hours afterward, a blanket draped over us as we watch a movie. Her head would be pressed to my side as she dozed off, and I would stroke her hair as I listened to her tiny breaths. I would sigh, and everything would feel right. I wouldn’t be scared, not even for a second, because I’d know that she would want me, and I her. She would notice me, even when nobody else did.

All make believe, of course. The comatose robot below me wasn’t reacting in the least as I continued my attentions in the real world, and she probably wouldn’t have been much more reactive were she aware right now. It was just nice to indulge my stupid hopes, to imagine a world where someone, even a soulless machine, cared enough about me to feel anything for me. It lightened my day for a few minutes, even as the reminder of who I was caused the fantasy to collapse around me.

My left hand was wet, soaked in the evidence of my arousal. I removed it, replaced it with my right, the vulva closing up once more as I pulled my finger out. I placed my hand over the small slit, wiping a finger from the base off her tiny ballsack to the beginning of the cleft between her cheeks, spreading my precum on her skin, providing some lubrication to make my movements smoother.

I withdrew from her bottom as I reached its beginning, placing my middle finger back at her opening. I almost inserted it alone, before I thought about how elastic her vagina had seemed before. I added my index finger as I pushed in, gingerly feeling for any constriction of her walls, ready to pull out if I started feeling like I was damaging her.

I bottomed out, my wet fingers spreading their lubrication over her already slippery surfaces, the sensation now silky, almost frictionless. I didn’t bother with buildup this time around, pumping in earnest as soon as I felt ready.

My own cock was hard as a rock under my fingers, throbbing in time with the beat of my heart. I wouldn’t last much longer, no matter how much I wished I could. I kept up my tempo on both fronts, the rush of blood to my head drowning out everything else, my vision hazy with arousal.

I pushed both fingers in to the hilt, her back arching in my mind’s eye as I closed my eyes, a spurt of cum shooting out of her cock to land back down on her stomach, glazing her white as her toes curled. I could almost feel it play out in real time, could almost believe that it was happening before me.

My body followed the direction of my imagination, my legs locking upright as my muscles tightened. A surge of ecstasy hit me from toe to tip, knocking my senses out temporarily as my mind was overloaded on sensation. Semen shot up the length of my shaft, emerging from the tip in a jet that splattered against the kitchen island, dripping down to pool on the floor.

Unconsciously, I leaned forward, my knees pressing against the island. My fingers slipped out of her vagina, wet with arousal. I clenched my hand into a fist as I pressed it against the tabletop, supporting myself just in case my legs buckled. My head came down to rest on my arms, right before the place I’d violated.

I took a moment to catch my breath, let my heartbeat slow to its resting tempo.

That had been the best orgasm I’d ever had while masturbating, barring maybe one or two I’d had at the beginning, when I’d first discovered self-pleasure. The fact that it’d happened while I was molesting something with the visage of a pre-adolescent girl, passed out on my kitchen counter, didn’t escape me. I was wretched.

I’m such a fuck-up. It’s a good thing I don’t go out anymore. What would happen if I spotted someone getting raped? Would I join in? Would I decide the pleasure’s worth selling my soul, abandoning any pretense of morality for a minute of bliss? Would I violate a child just to feel, for a few minutes, like life’s worth it? It’s best I stay here until I die. I can’t hurt anybody, that way.

An old soundtrack with new notes, the melody further developed now that I’d proven the hateful thing right. I couldn’t even trust myself anymore, if this was how I reacted the second I gained unobstructed access to someone who could sate my desires. I needed to stay away from people, mail Frank his robot back, and just… do something. I wasn’t sure what. Find a solution so I didn’t bog everyone down. Something permanent.

There was a shift, the soft sound of skin sliding against granite. It wasn’t me.

I raised my head, noting that my cheeks were wetter than they’d been before I’d put my head down. Probably lingering pre-ejaculate. I’d need to wash it off later.

That thought lasted the moment that it took for my brain to put context to the image before me, to draw conclusions based on the available data. That data being a small stomach covered in cum, a string of the stuff connected to a penis that stood bolt upright little more than a few centimeters from my face, the labia below it engorged and wet with arousal.

That served as a distraction for a few seconds, my thoughts passing each other by microns, fractionally failing to connect even as the puzzle was turned about in my mind.

The sound came again, the crotch before me shifting slightly so that the penis was no longer immediately before me. A pair of vivid green eyes was looking back at me on the other side of a reclined body, face impassive. It didn’t move at all, and for a moment I thought it might’ve always had its head up like that, somehow, without me noticing. Then it tilted to the side slowly, the blankness switching to an expression of intense curiosity.

A word didn’t pass between us. My eyes flicked from the organs I’d assaulted, back to the small face scrutinizing me with a fervor I’d never seen before, the eyes flicking about in a tiny arc that encompassed every visible part of me. I felt exposed, vulnerable, more so thanks to my position, my recent actions that still weighed on me.

I didn’t like the attention, but there wasn’t a way to escape it. It might’ve been a minute of staring now, maybe more, and the eyes hadn’t even blinked. If this was a contest, I was losing. Badly. The room was getting hotter, this time not from arousal. I wanted to be anywhere else.

I said something to break the silence, to still my rapidly accelerating heart even as it spiralled out of control.

“Um… hi.”

The eyes didn’t deviate for a time, and I was worried I’d have them boring into me longer than I was capable of handling. I needed them to be anywhere else, away from me. It was getting hard to think past the maelstrom of anxious thoughts assaulting me.

Just when I was convinced I was about to lose my nerve, my prayers were answered. Her gaze tracked past me, up along the wall behind me, to rest at a point directly above her head. Despite myself, I looked up with her, to see what was captivating her attention so thoroughly.

There was nothing I could see. Maybe she’s built with thermal vision or UV filters or something. She’s probably seeing a bacterial infestation I can’t, or some other stupid thing I should’ve addressed years ago.

Her eyes remained there for a few seconds. Not long enough, unfortunately, since I was just starting to move away when her gaze snapped back to me.

“I don’t see anything high.” she said. Her voice was lilting, sweet, lyrical and small and childish all at once.

I tried to put her words together into something that made sense, until I realized they didn’t. “No, n-not high up. Like… hello. That’s… that’s what I meant to say. Hello.” My volume dropped off at the end, quieter than a mumble.

Regardless, she still seemed to hear it, if the sudden widening of her eyes was any indication. A grin split her face, a sunbeam stretching through heavy cloud cover, her teeth white as glazed ceramic and far kinder. God, how long had it been since someone had just smiled at me, because they wanted to?

I couldn't remember.

“Oh. Hello,” she said.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please tell me why. If not, ditto. It'd be greatly appreciated.


End file.
